Broken Arrow

Cull. It would have been an easy thing to slip into madness back then; he'd come close himself. But Tate's words about The Devil, about worship and sacrifice, had spooked him. Any kind of organised religion bothered Robert, but one which called for the death of innocents… He'd hidden it, but when Tate had been talking about Hell, Robert suddenly had a mental image of flames, of fire licking up around him.

His house burning to the ground, torched by the people in power trying to contain the virus. Robert's family, dead inside.

The lake he'd dreamed of at Rufford, ablaze and then-

The market square where he'd confronted De Falaise finally, their crashed vehicles catching light; the fire spreading out across their battlefield.

In spite of what Tate might think, Robert did like him. More than that, he respected him. They might never agree about their chosen professions — Tate would say callings — but the man talked a lot of sense. Depending on how you looked at it, Robert either owed him for making him face up to his responsibilities, or was the catalyst for everything that had happened since: leaving Sherwood, being put in charge of the Rangers, becoming a figurehead for something much greater than he could ever be.

Robert pushed all this to the back of his mind as they approached the hotel entrance, its glass doors cracked but still in place — the steps stained a faded red with blood that had long since dried.

The guard there, Robert searched for his name, it was getting much harder these days, the more his team grew — Kershaw, that was it — stood to attention. Robert thought he was going to salute and he'd have to go through that whole business of reminding them they weren't in the army. He wasn't their general.

'You just don't see it, do you? I'm no better than De Falaise.'

Robert swung down off his mount, then helped Tate from the saddle. The holy man was stiff, and it took him a moment to regain the feeling in his legs. Robert tethered his horse to a nearby handrail.

'I'm here to see the prisoners, Kershaw,' he told the guard, pulling down his hood at the same time.

The guard swallowed hard. 'We… we thought it best to tell you when you got here. There's been a problem.'

'Problem?'

'The men watching them tried to stop it but… Well, I think it's probably best you see for yourself, sir.' Kershaw waved a hand for Robert and Tate to enter. They were met inside by another of Robert's men — and this one he did recognise. It was Geoff Baker, the man he'd left in charge of this improvised jail, having been a warder in a real prison for years until the virus struck.

Geoff ran a hand through his thinning hair before offering his apologies. 'It all happened so quickly, there was very little we could do.'

'What did?'

'Go easy,' Tate said. 'Give the man a chance to explain.'

'They did it all at once. We managed to get to one of them, but…'

'Geoff, talk to me.'

Instead of saying anything else, Geoff took them to a storage room just to the right of the lobby, past a huge wall-length mirror, and unlocked the door. Inside were several bodies, stacked on top of each other, all wearing the robes of the Morningstar cult. Robert looked at Geoff, confused. 'They committed suicide, Rob.'

'What? How? You had them secured, right?'

'Two or three swallowed their own tongues, another one managed to get one hand free of the ropes and tear his own throat out.'

'Dear Lord,' whispered Tate.

'One tipped the chair over that he was tied to, angling it so he struck his temple on the side of a nearby table. Another actually lifted up the chair and ran at a wall, hard enough to smash his own skull in.'

Robert was having difficulty understanding. He'd never had to deal with these kinds of prisoners before, people who would gladly end their own lives rather than divulge any information.

'But why weren't you lot keeping an eye on them?' There was more frustration than anger in his voice, but Geoff reacted as if chastised.

'We were doing our best. I don't exactly have a full staff here,' Geoff reminded him, his tone hardening. 'And when a crisis crops up out there, a portion of my men always seem to be called away even though they're vital for guarding this place.'

Robert nodded. 'Point taken. You say you managed to get to one of them, though?'

'Yeah. We've been keeping him dosed up to try and stop him from doing anything similar.' Geoff gestured for them to follow him.

'Just one moment,' Reverend Tate said. He made the sign of the cross at the door and closed his eyes.

'Why are you wasting your time with that?' said Robert. 'They don't want your help, and they definitely don't want to go to your Heaven.'

'We're all God's children, whether we've strayed from the path or not. They deserve the chance of forgiveness. Of mercy.'

Robert could see he wouldn't be argued with.

They left the room behind and headed for the stairs. Tate had trouble with these, but refused both Geoff and Robert's help, intent on climbing the two flights himself. Finally, they made it to what had been the bar area, an expanse of carpeted floor that once contained comfy chairs for residents, but now only boasted tables which ran into the restaurant section. On either side was a long glass window — the left one cracked in places — and the bar at the back was smashed to pieces, graffiti sprayed across the walls, probably by someone during or after The Cull who'd come looking for booze.

At each corner of the room stood a Ranger with a bow and arrow primed, keeping an eye on what was taking place. It was lunchtime, Geoff explained, and as they didn't have the time and resources to feed each prisoner individually, they had to do it en masse, bringing out vats of stew from the reclaimed kitchens located beyond the restaurant. Robert had to admit, it didn't look very appetising, but it was all they could manage under the circumstances.

There was a shout as one of the inmates spotted Robert and Tate. Then a figure broke away from the rest of the prisoners, making a dash for Robert. Immediately, bows and arrows were raised and the man stopped before he could reach his target. They needn't have worried, as Robert had his bow primed too, an arrow snatched from his quiver the second he sensed trouble.

'This is bullshit. I keep telling 'em, I shouldn't be here!' shouted the prisoner.

'Really?' said Robert, approaching, his weapon trained on the man. 'How so?' The man's face looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. It was certainly distinctive, the way that scar ran the length of his jaw-line.

'You let some of the others that worked for him go. Fucking 'ell, some of 'em are even working for you, while I'm stuck in this bastard place with them lot.'

'Come on, Jason — back in line,' said Geoff, moving forwards and signalling to a couple of the guards.

'Fuck off, screw. I'm talking to the organ grinder now.'

That was it. Jason… Jace. When it had come time to sort out who might be retrained from the remnants of De Falaise's army, several of Robert's people had warned him about Jace. Mark, Sophie and Gwen especially, detailing how he'd first of all kidnapped Hood's ward, then allowed himself to be 'seduced' by Gwen so she could knock him out and steal his uniform. A nasty piece of work by all accounts.

'You're talking to the wrong person,' Robert told Jace. 'He's the one who deals in forgiveness for scum like you.' He nodded at Tate, who pursed his lips. 'How about it, Reverend? Think we should let him go? Is there a place for him in God's plan? How would Gwen or Sophie feel about that? He would have raped them both given half a chance.'

'That Gwen was up for it,' sneered Jace. 'She enjoyed being with De Falaise — told me as much.'

It was the holy man who moved forward this time, whacking the youth in the stomach with his stick. He would have done more had Robert not pulled him back. The guards had Jace then, and were dragging him across the room.

'Put him in solitary for a day,' Geoff ordered. 'That should cool him down a bit.' Solitary, Robert knew, was a locked storage room with no windows. It might seem barbaric, but for Jace and his kind it was better than some of the justice that was being meted out in other parts of the country. At least here, Robert was more or less sticking